Yet some of these same saletes are so pretty and grow
so easily that I am tempted not to care. One of these trials of my life
is what I am learning to know as liserone--we used to call it wild
morning-glory. That I am forbidden to have--if I want anything else.
But it is pretty.
I remember years ago to have heard Ysolet, in a lecture at the Sorbonne,
state that the "struggle for life" among the plants was fiercer and more
tragic than that among human beings. It was mere words to me then. In
the short three weeks that I have been out here in my hilltop garden I
have learned to know how true that was. Sometimes I am tempted to have a
garden of weeds. I suppose my neighbors would object if I let them all
go to seed and sow these sins of agriculture all over the tidy farms
about me.
Often these lovely mornings I take a long walk with the dog before
breakfast. He is an Airedale, and I am terribly proud of him and my
neighbors terribly afraid of him. I am half inclined to believe that he
is as afraid of them as they are of him, but I keep that suspicion, for
prudential reasons, to myself. At any rate, all passers keep at a
respectful distance from me and him.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34